


Primordial Screams for Want of a Gardener; Or, I Swear On Someone Angel, I Will Scream

by D20Owlbear



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aspec Friendly, Aziraphale is in no way worried about it, Aziraphale turns off his ears like an old man turns off hearing aids, Book Omens Week 2021, Canon - Book, Comedy, Crowley is a mess lbr, Crowley's upset, Linked in the fic, M/M, ace friendly, actually a bastard, and that one doesn't need explaining, but you also can't help but love him about it, but you can't help but love him about it, good omens is a parody, he screams about it, no i will not explain, or in a bookshop, so is this, sometimes a demon just needs to scream off a pier at the ocean or something, that works too, when he doesn't feel like listening, written with Ecchima's character designs in mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29032461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/pseuds/D20Owlbear
Summary: Aziraphale is having a pretty good day, decent as far as days went even though the Antichrist, the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness was delivered by Crowley only a week previous.Crowley is not. He hadn't realized Aziraphale simply wasn't going toshow up at allas the gardener! And he's about damn ready to scream at the ceiling about it!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15
Collections: Break in Case of Emergency: Fluff and Love, Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically





	Primordial Screams for Want of a Gardener; Or, I Swear On Someone Angel, I Will Scream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ecchima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecchima/gifts).



> [For Book Omens Week!] and based off the lovely Ecchima's book boys designs you can see linked below!
> 
> Ecchima's [Crowley](https://ecchima.tumblr.com/post/190646638580) and [Aziraphale](https://ecchima.tumblr.com/post/190606930660) (and their [twitter](https://twitter.com/Ecchimas_art/) and [tumblr](https://ecchima.tumblr.com/)!)

The windows coated in dust let the fading sunshine of the day filter through to Aziraphale’s very comfortable reading chair, where he was reading in peace. The lights would turn from the gentle clear of day to reds and pinks and all rainbows of colors from the neons outside Aziraphale’s bookshop. It was a time of day Aziraphale relished[1], where all the lights turned on as the sun set and nightlife kicked up. Even in the middle of the week, Soho was always teeming with such things.

But it was one week to the day after the Antichrist had been delivered unto the Earth to bring his reign, and the ruin of the world as it was ground before him into dust, reshaped to fit his whims. Of course, no one could really tell on such a normal Tuesday. Aziraphale sighed to himself and tutted a little at his book, his attention not so well-held after that train of thought. The worry in his gut wouldn’t go away, even after the clever plan he and Crowley had scrounged up to influence the Antichrist to good, or at least to side with the Earth.

With nary enough time to get back to his book after that thought, to give it another good ol’ college try, his locked front door flung open, crashing into the wall behind it and making the books nearby quake in fear. Oh, Crowley. Aziraphale sighed and crossed his ankles the other way to rest on his footstool, not bothering to look up and sending a bit of thought to the door so it might close itself much more nicely than it had been thrown open[2] and re-engage the lock. It wouldn’t do to let a customer in, for Heaven’s sake.

He looked up over the edge of his book surreptitiously. One must, after all, keep an ever-vigilant eye on the enemy; and also it was best to be ahead of Crowley’s moods, mercurial as he was. He did get so cross about being ignored, which was alright sometimes and not others, so Aziraphale had to be abreast of the situation, as it were.

Oh, good Lord, Crowley was furious. Aziraphale blinked behind his large spectacles[3] in surprise at that. Just what could have put him in such a sour mood? It was best to wait it out, Aziraphale thought; Crowley didn’t like being spoken to when he was this riled, and preferred just to yell it out once he had the words[4].

Crowley screamed, head pointed up at the heavens[5] and arms outstretched as if demanding to know why this was his life.[6] Aziraphale sat and waited patiently and turned off his ears for just a moment to read until Crowley was done. A few minutes into it, some movement caught his eye over his book and Aziraphale looked up to take in the scene once more.

Crowley was clearly ranting and raving, pacing the floor, and every step clacked on the floor loudly with the heel of rather fetching black-snakeskin penny loafers. Aziraphale returned his hearing without much thought and tuned in to Crowley’s ire, and finally gave the dear the proper attention he so clearly wanted.

“And then I said, ‘Oh, what’s this now?! Do you think I’m not suitable, Mr Landon’ —that’s the butler, oh, I despise the man, he ought to have hiccups for the rest of his miserable life but never be able to prove it to anyone! Yes, great idea, angel![7]— I said ‘do you think I cannot raise the boy? Why would you think such things? I promise I come highly recommended.’

“And I do! You remember, oh fuck, er– wots-er-name, Zariah! That’s it! You remember Zariah, had a whole host of terrible devils, and always made me babysit! Oh, I ought to have clocked him, but it wouldn’t have gone well–” Crowley threw his hands up as he flopped down on the couch and resumed his scream, this time in the vicinity of face down in a pillow.

Aziraphale waited politely for Crowley to turn his face away from the pillow and only frowned heavily at the lipstick smear left there (and on Crowley’s face) instead of berating Crowley for it. He did sigh though; that was rather unable to be helped. As much as Crowley looked the part —or at least had when he’d arrived— of a put-together Nanny of… indispensable services[8], he wasn’t really all that and hadn’t ever been put-together, if anyone asked Aziraphale’s opinion on it. The demon was, at best, a shoddily pinned-together nest of snakes[9], but that was a bit of his charm, wasn’t it?

“Don’t you sigh at me, angel!” Crowley hissed, his eyes narrowing menacingly[10] over the rims of his glasses.

“My dear b–” Aziraphale paused for a moment before continuing, “Ah, my dear, which…”

“Oh, s’fine,” Crowley grumbled, waving his hand lazily in the air, taking a brief break from his ire, “Boy’s fine, whatever, just parts or clothes, ‘n all.”

“True enough, dear boy[11]. I was saying, though, why didn’t you simply hire it out?” Aziraphale picked up his tea —still quite warm, thank you, his cups loved him better than to let it grow cold— and sipped daintily to fill the sudden silence as deep and impenetrable as the Trench[12].

“Hire–” Crowley’s voice broke and for a brief moment it looked as if he’d had the rug pulled out from under him, or perhaps had walked off a cliff and was a moment or two from realizing it.

“You were supposed to be there!” Crowley shot up, a hissing mess yet again, and began pacing again. He stopped behind a bookshelf somewhere and wailed loudly again[13].

“Be where, dear?” Aziraphale asked, reaching over to pluck a madeline off the small plate beside his tea mug, resting on the table just on the other side of the arm of his chair.

Crowley growled and surged forward, slapping Aziraphale’s fingers just barely hard enough to make him drop the sweet. Aziraphale made a moue of long-suffering displeasure and watched the madeleine fall to the floor, dropping crumbs onto his very nice rug.

“Be at the ambassador’s house! Someone else got the gardening position, Aziraphale! You’re meant to be there, to influence the little demon-spawn to good, so we don’t–” Crowley groaned in frustration[15] and threw his hands up in the air once more to make his point.

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed and then sighed again as Crowley ripped off his tweed jacket that matched his skirt and threw it over his shoulder[16] only to march on further into the back room of Aziraphale’s bookshop and whirl the safe-lock on Aziraphale’s wine rack. Not that he’d put in the code, or even knew it, but Aziraphale didn’t bother to stop him from plucking a bottle from the depths of his reserve stock.

“Oh?!” Crowley shouted, whirling around to point at Aziraphale, wine bottle in hand. Oh dear, that was his good pinot. Aziraphale sighed again when Crowley stuck a hastily grown claw into the cork and pulled it out without the help of a corkscrew or any miracle otherwise.

“OH! He says, Oh, that’s all! As if he wasn’t bloody interested in keeping his sushi places! And his crepes and all his bloody books–”

Aziraphale cut Crowley off, “Oh, Crowley, as in I hadn’t expected you to go yourself. I hired the position out. To a monk looking for something a bit less rigid than a monastery. Brother Francis is his name.”

Crowley looked Aziraphale directly in the eyes and seemed to be entirely gobsmacked for all of a minute before taking a pull directly from the bottle. He grimaced at the flavor and lost all the steam he’d had previously. Aziraphale didn’t try very hard to hide his smile when he conjured a decanter and two glasses from his kitchenette[17].

“You’re a heathen, darling.” Aziraphale gestured to the glasses and the decanter. “If you’re going to steal my nice Rhône I’d at least like to enjoy it.”

Crowley scoffed but poured the white into the decanter to let it air a bit and chill slightly. He then flung himself onto the loveseat next to Aziraphale[18]. Of course, the wine was a bit too far away to reach normally, but what were miracles for, if not convenience?] Crowley groaned and bemoaned about the young boy — a baby actually. 

“He’s not all that demonic, though!” Crowley said, as if it were a complaint, and accepted the glass of full-bodied wine and a madeline with only a brief pause in his rant to breathe, take a drink, and to lean in and tap his nose to Aziraphale’s cheek in lieu of a kiss or a thank you. “He’s just a wee little baby, angel, you’d never believe it!”

Aziraphale hummed and nodded where he ought as Crowley vented and very carefully did not point out that the demon seemed rather fond of the “hellion” and “troublemaker-in-training” he’d called the baby Warlock Dowling. He also mercifully did not mention that Crowley’s eyes went bright with happiness when he talked about carrying the boy around all day only to shove him for “just a moment” into the arms of the secret service agents who looked the most terrified of babies. And, most importantly of all, he kept Crowley’s glass at least half-way full and filled the hand not occupied with a wine glass with madeline halves, nibbling on his own as he hummed and nodded along.

Somewhere along the way Crowley had ramped himself right back up in his complaints, and Aziraphale was just glad to see him happy again[20].

“I do like them, you know,” Aziraphale said softly once Crowley had finished his half of the bottle of wine and his complaints had petered out.

“Like what?” Crowley muttered, nudging his leg against Aziraphale’s hand, upset he’d stopped massaging his calves the way he had been after Crowley complained about his legs aching from all the carry-a-baby-while-walking-about he had to do.

“Your stockings, dear, do keep up.” Aziraphale smiled innocently in the face of Crowley’s unimpressed glower until Crowley couldn’t help but scoff a laugh and fall into the preening as he so wanted to do[21]. Aziraphale very much did not laugh at the way Crowley smoothed his hair back and rolled his shoulders back the exact way he did when he was trying to show off his wings to glint iridescent in the sunlight.

“They’re very vintage of you, dear,” Aziraphale continued and resumed kneading his fingers into the underside of Crowley’s calves — and certainly did not try to make Crowley yelp by digging into the knots there; he was an angel after all. “You look dashing in them, and I’m simply vexed you hadn’t liked women’s fashion more in the 40’s, darling.”

Crowley made no effort to stop his preening at the compliments, and the smile on his face even as Aziraphale found all the stiff muscles in his calves from the last century made Aziraphale smile in return. The silence was nice; it was simple and it was comfortable, as it always had been with Crowley[22]. So Aziraphale was more than happy to sit with Crowley’s legs across his lap in an armchair that was only ever exactly the size necessary to house the two of them comfortably until there was a need to speak again.

“So, er,” Crowley said, hesitant, “Do you– am I not going to be seeing you, then?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale repeated once more, this time a little dumbly as the last two hours finally clicked. “Oh, I didn’t know, my dear…”

Crowley scoffed, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked to the side, pretending valiantly not to blush. Aziraphale smoothed his hands over Crowley’s shins and stroked slowly and firmly from knee to ankle, not trying to do anything but be a firm presence with Crowley.

“I ought to say sorry[23],” Aziraphale murmured quietly and then continued on as he had before. “But I think the fairest thing to do would actually be for you to report back to me. I only get so much information from Francis, you know.”

Crowley eyed him for a few moments and Aziraphale didn’t let his slight smile drop; neither did he reveal any nerves indicating he might have suggested the wrong thing, or read Crowley’s complaints the wrong way[24], and eventually Crowley closed his eyes and leaned in until his forehead was on Aziraphale’s shoulder. How he was bent that way Aziraphale didn’t rightly know, but he’d long since stopped questioning such things as Crowley’s bendiness.

“Alright, angel,” Crowley grumbled, and Aziraphale pretended not to feel the smile on lips smushed against his arm[25]. “I’ll let it go this time. An’ give you the daily report, but can’t promise I won’t lie to you…”

Crowley lifted his face to grin wide and cheekily at Aziraphale, who harrumphed good-naturedly and surreptitiously checked his shirt-sleeve for a lipstick stain[26], and then grabbed Crowley’s hand to massage at his palm.

“How gracious of you, dear,” Aziraphale replied primly and didn’t bother to hide the smile at Crowley’s responding growl.

“Oi! How dare you!” Crowley geared up for another tirade and then suddenly stopped, slumping back down on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Oh wait. Actually that’s very nice; how did you notice my hand was cramping before I did?”

### Footnotes

1. The deep breath London took could be felt if you were large enough or high up enough, which angels often were, and which Aziraphale most assuredly was in order to keep check on his little corner of the world where he was Principality and intended to keep up with↩

2. Poor dear…↩

3. which gave him a distinctive owl-eyed look he was happy with↩

4. Crowley often did not have the words when he began yelling and, instead, chose to voice his fury with an amalgamation of syllables, heavy on the vowels, until he’d calmed down sufficiently to think again. Aziraphale secretly thought that it was that or turn into a snake, poor dear.↩

5. Or at Aziraphale’s ceiling; he could never tell, to be truthful.↩

6. Once, while drunk, Crowley had explained his whole routine to a particularly fascinated Aziraphale and, ever since, Aziraphale hadn’t been able to divorce himself from the knowledge that it went: try to make words, don’t make words, strut, throw head back and primordial scream (ideally at a lake or a good river but the ceiling would do if none were to be found), throw arms out in frustration, and then — the final step was to actually bring up said issue after he knew it would be taken seriously enough.↩

7. it was not, of course, Aziraphale’s idea per se, but he had suggested it once while slightly inebriated some centuries back as a laugh about certain angel coworkers visiting.↩

8. It hadn’t been so much that Mr Landon thought Crowley wasn’t up to the job as it was that he’d thought The Nanny that had shown up in particular wasn’t meant to be a child’s caretaker, and he was worried about getting her through the house sight unseen. Crowley did look a sight in a pencil skirt, tweed as it was, and with those high Victorian collars.↩

9. Admittedly in a flashy coat and with nice shoes, and it took only a bit of a look and an insinuation it might rain and the dear boy was on his feet with red cheeks and an umbrella. Was it really Aziraphale’s fault it rained so often when he called it, if that was the response?↩

10. To anyone else, most assuredly.↩

11. It was as he thought, but it was best to ask. After all, it wasn't as if Crowley didn’t change his gender when he liked, but he’d kept all his usual masculine mannerisms; it was simply polite to make sure.↩

12. The Marianas Trench would be a good guess as to what this is referring to, but actually Aziraphale was thinking of another trench, out in space, simply called The Trench that was, in reality, simply a rather elongated black hole instead of one of those standard spherical ones. A handy thing to swear by if one wanted to avoid taking the Lord’s name in vain.↩

13. Sorry dear, primordial screamed, are you happy now Crowley?) and Aziraphale hoped he wasn’t disturbing the neighbors[14].↩

14. Not the neighbors on Soho, the other neighbors, the ones connected to his little slice of L-space.↩

15. There was only a hint of a scream left in it; mostly it was just over-dramatic hopelessness which Aziraphale didn’t tend to take to heart. Of the two of them, Crowley was ever the boundless optimist.↩

16. It landed on Aziraphale’s favorite globe, he’d had it since the 17th century, thank you very much, luckily Crowley knew better than to dislodge it or let it chip with his antics.↩

17. The decanter was swan-shaped, or duck-shaped if one were to ask Crowley outside of Aziraphale’s hearing range, with a removable rubber cork on the head where it stuck into the neck. Crowley had named it Leonard the 17th, since surely he’d last that long, to be the 17th.↩

18. Aziraphale made room post-haste in order not to get a customary bony elbow to the chest and pulled Crowley into place, with legs over his lap and Crowley’s back against the other arm of the chair, until they were both satisfied with the arrangement[19].↩

19. This was only one of many arrangements they’ve had over the years, and one they didn’t speak of aloud.↩

20. Crowley, Aziraphale had always found, was quite easy to cheer up if only he had something to kvetch about.↩

21. The quickest way to a demon’s heart was through the tough outer layer with a holy-fire flaming sword. The second quickest way was flattery.↩

22. It certainly hadn’t always been, but Aziraphale was an accomplished liar with every shade of rose-tint to add to his spectacles as he liked.↩

23. He ought to, yes, but this was yet another arrangement of theirs, unspoken. It just wouldn’t do to be caught out for getting in the habit of saying sorry to a presumed mortal enemy.↩

24. He very rarely did read Crowley wrong, but the last time it had happened Crowley’d slept through the American Prohibition, he’d been so upset by it, and then was bereft upon learning about Al Capone without having been able to meet the man.↩

25. And doubly so pretended he wasn’t half-ready to flip Crowley off the seat for staining his shirt with lipstick and making him fix it now instead of later. One must always, he reminded himself, give someone the opportunity to be good themselves, even if it's his spoiled demon…↩

26. Luckily for Crowley he hadn’t wanted to ruin the shirt, so his lipstick stayed where it was and firmly not-shirt-side, and he was covered in so much of a sudden surge of love from his angel it made him too dizzy to figure out why.↩

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me in a couple of places! I absolutely love to be talked to! Please come interact with me if you're this way inclined~
> 
> My Twitter: <https://twitter.com/Great_Ass_aFire>  
> My Tumblr: <https://d20owlbear.tumblr.com/>
> 
> If you like what I write, please think about supporting me, links in my pinned Tumblr post about how to do so!


End file.
